When all seems to be lost
by Annemarie01
Summary: When her mother dies, Hawke is completely devistated. And then she disappeares. There seems to be only one person to save her. But will he come in time ..?


**Well, who could have figured, I again found a lingering, lost fragment, trying to catch my attention. This time not on my computer but in my mind, working overtime. The poor thing. (The fragment I mean, not my mind, nobody must take pity on that!) It (again the fragment and, yes, secretly also my tormented mind) fervently hopes you will like it.**

**So, enjoy!**

* * *

When all seems lost

* * *

She had been staring into the fire in the hearth in her bedroom for ages. Her eyes stayed dry; for some reason or another she couldn't cry. The former radiant blue orbs, now dulled, stung in their dryness as if they were begging for the tears that wouldn't come. Her hands had been clenched into fists; her nails had broken the skin, calloused from all the years of wielding daggers. They had left bloodied marks through the callosity but still the tears wouldn't fall to free her of the chocking feeling of emptiness, grief and downright failure. She wanted to forget, to chase away the gruesome images but that endeavour also proved to be unsuccessful. She had sent away all of her friends – even Fenris who somewhere had found the courage to make a clumsy but well meant attempt to comfort her – to try to cope with her pain on her own but now it seemed to turn and bite her in the back. She had never felt so lonely before, not even when the elf had left her in the middle of the night with that idiotic cowardly excuse for a decent explanation why he ran away from her. And besides that she felt utterly drained but sleep was no option. She was afraid that the moment she dared to close her eyes, the events of the past day would turn into nightmares, even more vivid than the pictures whirling in her head right now.

She and her mother had never been what you could call friends. More often than she could or wanted to recall they had been shouting at each other at the top of their lungs. Her mother had accused her of the loss of her siblings, unnecessarily adding to her already unbearable feelings of guilt. She had hated her for that. But when she had come to her senses, to be honest only years later, she had understood that she just had given air to her own sorrow and had lashed out at the nearest person available. And when they had moved to this estate her mother suddenly had got it into her mind her only surviving child should be married off to some kind of snooty noble. They had been arguing about that stupid topic for ages. Her mother had even gone as far as to take the opportunity of that fateful night with Fenris to push her into several dates with what she had called "promising prospects". She had tolerated the elf and had pointed out she always could keep him as a lover on the side. Hawke had been too devastated at that time to argue but had hated her mother even more for it.

But of course she had never hated her. Not really. There had been annoyance. Frustration. Anger. And beneath all of that affection. Love.

And now she had gone.

No, even more awful; her mother had been murdered, slaughtered, desecrated and the worst part was that she could have prevented it if she had been more vigilant. If she had paid more attention to that Templar's investigation Leandra would still be alive. White lilies. Never in her life would she be able to look at those flowers again without this appalling memory. She hadn't even been able to shout at Anders, to confront him with his plea to free all mages, to rub the outcome of that obtuse idea in his face. She hadn't even paid attention to his presence and his stuttered words of an awkward apology. She had kneeled beside her mother, holding her, desperately trying to find a way to safe her; and after it had became badly obvious saving her was no option even more desperately trying to say something to make clear to her she loved her despite their everlasting arguments. And in her dying moments her mother on her turn had told her she loved _her_ and was proud of her. It had torn her to pieces. A short moment rage flickered. Her mother?! A dreadful euphemism for the puppet that deranged bloodmage had turned her into! She supposed she should be thankful that at least her mother's mind had been left intact so they had been able to tell each other their tenderly goodbyes but at this stage she didn't feel anything close to gratitude. The brief flash of rage subsided and left her again in that void of numb grief and loneliness.

She had lost them all. She had made a pledge to look after them, to keep them safe and she had failed gloriously. Her parents, her siblings, all dead, all murdered and she hadn't been able to prevent it. She was utterly alone by now, due to her own shortcomings.

Suddenly her room oppressed her. She needed air.

Without thinking she stood, left her bedroom and descended the stairs, walking like an automaton to the front door.

'Messere ..?' Bodahn said hesitantly, 'this is no time to go outdoors, the weather ...' but he closed his mouth when he saw her empty face. She did not listen to him as such, she clearly didn't hear him at all. She seemed to wander in a completely different world.

* * *

The Wounded Coast. Oh how the name sounded appropriate. Wounded. But she hoped the view and smell of the salt waters lapping the coast would bring back some life into her stunned body and mind. She headed directly to the small cave she had discovered a year or so before and had used ever since as some kind of sanctuary when she needed to be alone for a time after all the struggles to solve other people's troubles and to be away from the rows with her mother, the prattle of her friends and the noise of the Hanged Man. From life in genuine. "Cave" was probably not the right word for the room; it was more like an overextended dent in the rocks but it sufficed as a bolt hole. She had stacked some provision in a corner and now used the pile of wood to build a small fire. After that she went outside to look at the sea.

The dwarf had been right of course; the weather hadn't been good to start with and it got worse by the minute. It was freezing. It had been snowing already when she left her house although the word "snow" wasn't right. It suggested the impression of friendly and almost romantic cotton-like thick flakes, floating from the air like tranquil spirits to cover the world in peace. This snow looked and felt more like biting sleet. This snow was out for war. And to emphasise that now a blizzard was brewing. She didn't care, or rather she welcomed the harsh cold wind that blew through her too thin clothes and punished her skin with icy pinpricks that soon became blows. She hadn't bothered with a cloak or decent boots. With the strengthening of the tempest her own hitherto frozen feelings seemed to thaw up till the degree of heated fury. Suddenly she found herself screaming and fuming at the elements battering her frame, at the freezing skies, the raging sea, the wild whirling stinging snow. Hot tears were streaming down her face while she shredded her voice, seething, yelling, roaring. Cursing the Maker himself for her fate, for her inability to keep the ones she loved and cared for with her. It relieved her, enormously.

Finally she broke down and she stumbled into her refuge where she collapsed beside the fire that soon withered and extinguished.

* * *

Fenris had pulled a chair as close to the fire as possible. The harsh wind seemed to blow through the walls and filled the mansion with coldness. He tried to read. Hawke's lessons hadn't gone to waste and in fact he needn't her tutoring anymore but this afternoon he simply couldn't put his mind into the words that tried to catch his attention. With a sigh he laid the book aside and took a small sip of the wine close at hand. This dreadful blizzard had been raging for more than twenty-four hours by now and the end wasn't in sight yet. No chance to go out and pay a visit to the Hanged Man to play a game of Wicked Grace with Varric and Isabela. Well, he wouldn't perish by braving the gruesome weather but to be honest he didn't feel like meeting the dwarf and even less the pirate queen. Or anyone else. The ghastly scene of the death of Hawke's mother still haunted his mind. The way she had looked in that tattered wedding dress, how she had tried to walk, staggering until Hawke had caught her in her arms and gently had laid her down and taken her head into her lap, the softly spoken kind and compassionate words ... He closed his eyes. She had been as a corps herself afterwards, hadn't even turned to Anders, just walked out of the room with that disturbing distant look in her eyes. He had gone to her after the Guard had taken Leandra's – the body away and had sealed the place, in a feeble attempt to give her some solace. She had listened to him in an almost polite way but hadn't reacted. He wasn't even certain she had been aware of his presence.

Guilt weighted heavily on his shoulders. No, he didn't have any share in her mother's death but he had given her a generous portion of heartache already before that horrible occurrence. He still saw her injured glance the moment he walked away from her, driven by fear and cowardice. He still could hear the brittle uttered reasons why he should stay, the sobs she bravely tried to stifle. He had felt awful back then and he felt even more awful right now. She had overwhelmed him, frightened him, scared him to death to be frank, with her all-embracing surrender, her unbridled passion and love. He knew for sure he couldn't answer that. He would have disappointed her; he never would be able to live up to her expectations. She had asked too much of him, seen too much in him. He could never fulfil her hopes. He was an ex-slave who had freed himself at the expense of many innocent lives. An ex-slave who, despite the blood he had shed, still wasn't totally free of his shackles.

He got dragged away out of his sombre contemplations by a heavy banging on his front door.

Cautiously he crept down the stairs, his sword in his hands, and opened the door, ready for any assault. He was not ready for a completely devastated Bodahn.

'Messere! Is she here?' The dwarf sounded desperate.

Fenris lowered his sword. 'Who? Hawke? No. Why?' Eloquent as he might be at times, he also had the ability to cut to the case if need be.

Bodahn wrung his hands. 'She has left the house yesterday morning and hasn't returned yet. I fear something dreadful has befallen her.'

All Fenris's instincts roared to life at this moment but he tried to stay reasonable. 'Why would something –'

He got cut short by the dwarf who positively was at the end of his tether. 'You haven't seen the look in her eyes when she walked out! And she wasn't dressed at all for this weather! I've been looking all over Kirkwall to find her but she's nowhere to be found. Please Messere, you are my last hope!'

Fenris tried to fight the feeling of rising panic. He _had_ seen that look. 'Where have you been looking?'

'Everywhere!' the dwarf cried, 'I've been to the Hanged Man, the Alienage, Lowtown, even to the Chantry. No one knows where she is or has even seen her!' He was near to tears by now.

'So you have succeeded to bring tje whole of Kirkwall in an uproar and only now thought of coming to me?'

Bodahn stumbled back but at the same time almost was blown into the mansion by the angry wind. 'Yes, well, I assumed, considering what happened between – forgive me -'

Fenris felt annoyed by himself. He reached out and pulled the dwarf into the hallway. 'No need to apologise. Now tell me where the rest have been searching.'

* * *

Apparently he was the only one who had come up with the idea she wasn't in the city at all. And thus the only one who was trying to conquer the Wounded Coast in an aggressive blizzard. At least, he thought sourly, he been intelligent enough to don a fur-lined cloak and to put on some warm boots – even elven feet weren't freeze-proof. He ploughed through knee-deep snow banks that hindered him in his progress, every now and then calling out her name with no avail. The only answer came from a startled hare that fled at the sight of him. Finally the tempest quietened down, leaving a crisp blue sky but it didn't do anything to the still freezing temperature. As a matter of fact, the cold seemed to plummet several degrees. He had checked every cave, corner and spot of the Wounded Coast by now and was willing to give up. Definitely she wasn't around here; probably Bodahn had been hysterical and she was lying in her warm bed while he was traipsing around this blasted area making a fool of himself and getting utterly cold, he tried to tell himself. In reality he got more worried by the minute.

And then, pure by chance, he stumbled upon the small cave.

His breath hitched and his heart stopped pounding.

There she was, lying next to an extinguished fire, curled into a ball, not moving, her skin a bluish hue, seemingly frozen to dead.

'No,' he whispered, 'no, this can't be true. Damn it Hawke, tell me you haven't been this stupid.' He raced to her, dropped down at her side and laid a wavering hand on her throat. At first he felt nothing but cold skin which made his heart from stopping to racing sky-high in a – ah heartbeat but then he sensed a faint slow pulse. He wanted to weep with relief. The first thing he did was rekindle the fire. He used all the stacked wood – wondering about how it got here was postponed, bringing her back to life was his first and only goal this moment – to make some kind of bonfire. Warmth was the most important thing right now. Then he drew her into his arms but she didn't respond. Her body felt as if her mind drifted in realms far beyond this one. Far beyond his reach. He whispered her name over and over again but she stayed still. Not even a movement of her lashes or a twitch of her lips told him she was aware of his efforts to bring her back. His galloping mind reminded him of tales of cases of hypothermal and how to remedy it. So he undressed her and himself and pulled her close to him to give her and share with her the heat of his body.

Feeling her naked skin against his own, cold as it might be, brought back the memory of the night they had shared together. He had to fight back tears. She had been glorious, almost glowing with delight, giving everything, every part of her body and her mind. She had screamed out his name the moment she had reached her relief and completion. He had felt her clamp down on him and had followed her in her height but he hadn't been able to reply her cries. Oh yes, he had been wrapped up in exhilaration, feeling her, touching her, tasting her; it had been more than he had thought or had hoped it would be up forehand. But with the coming and ever so fast fleeting memories, despair had raised its ugly head. _He would never be good enough for her._ He had blood on his hands, his former master still chased him; being attached to him, even as an faint acquaintance, could mean her death warrant. He wanted to find ever so more reasons to keep her at distance. He had never should have given in to his desire for her in the first place.

And then the insight struck him like a sledgehammer. He had been scared. Still was. But at this moment his fright had turned into the unbearable feeling of terror of losing her. And because of that he realised he was so afraid of losing her altogether he had fled her to prevent that from happening. It had nothing to do with his life as a slave, nothing with how he butchered those Fog Warriors, nothing with the still threatening existence of Danarius, nothing with his suddenly up bubbling and at the next moment fading memories.

It had everything to do with how he loved her and how he was too frightened to handle that. It had turned his whole existence upside-down. There never had been someone to bind him in that way. Never someone who asked that much from him, to give himself freely. _How could someone ask a slave to give himself freely?_ He swallowed. But at the same time _she_ had given herself freely to him. Without hesitation, without questioning, because she loved him. He swallowed again. Could love really do that? He looked down at her still motionless frame. What if she died? He could not live with that. He would do anything to safe her. Hell, he _was_ doing his utmost to save her. He took a deep breath. Yes, he would give himself to her if that took to keep her alive. He must not back away. He just had to give in.

'My love,' he pledged breathlessly, 'I promise if you live on, I will not ever leave you again. Please don't give up. Please wake up.'

And finally, at that moment, at those words, she opened her eyes. She felt his body warming hers, she was almost shocked to see the look in his eyes. Filled with anxiety, fear – and love. And tears.

'Before I found you there was a moment –' he stuttered with so much relief in his voice it would have brought her on her knees if she had been standing, 'don't do that again.'

She brushed his face with her fingertips.

'Am I really awake?'

Her last memory was of facing the ocean in an icy tempest while cursing the whole world to the Void. And now apparently he was holding her. He. The only person who could chase away the cold and grief that had enveloped her. Instead of that _he_ enveloped her. This couldn't be true.

'Is this real?'

He smiled. This definitely couldn't be real. He never smiled. Alright, that wasn't true. He _very rarely_ smiled. And then, to her utter confusion and happiness, he repeated his vow. 'I will never leave you again. I'm yours.'

She buried her face into his shoulder. She had to think this over. Was he serious? Did he indeed mean his urgent hoarse words? But he left her no space to think.

'If you will have me. For as long as you want me to stay.'

She dared not to look up. 'Forever?' she murmured hesitantly.

'That's a good start,' he agreed, 'but how about forever and a day?'

Only now she could put together the courage to face him. 'I'd love that,' she smiled.

And he kissed her.

* * *

**Yes, I plead guilty, the umpteenth attempt to a story to bring Hawke and Fenris back together before/and the whole Danarius business. I at least hope you liked this try. (No rugby involved.)**

**By the way, Hawke's feelings for and relationship with her mother very much match my own. But I think I'm not the only one to have a love/hate relation with her mother.**

**Thank you for reading!**


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